


-less

by kronette



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: M/M, Psychic Violence, Season/Series 05, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-17
Updated: 2012-10-17
Packaged: 2017-11-16 11:53:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/539137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kronette/pseuds/kronette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a retelling of the Series 5 episode "Terrorform."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Escape

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Graphic violence, suicidal tendencies/thoughts. I’ve only written something this dark once before, in Highlander fandom. Horsemen of the Apocalypse lend themselves well to torture and pain. So does self-loathing.
> 
> Originally posted 10 Sept. 2011.

Rimmer gave up trying to be brave around the time the oiling women disappeared. He was scared smegless. When Starbug was attacked, he hadn’t been hurt at all. How could he, when he was just projected light? But Kryten…Kryten was in pieces when he’d been captured by the little munchkin-like things that lurked about this planetoid, and he held no hope that Kryten would be able to repair himself.

The fact that he was apparently corporeal scared him even further. He’d gotten used to things passing through him. He was used to not feeling anything, be it pleasure or pain. But as the oiling ladies had just demonstrated, he had a body and it definitely felt pleasure. A muscle jumped in his bicep, reminding him that his arms were held over his head by manacles. He tugged on his wrists in the faint hope that they wouldn’t be secured well. No, his luck didn’t run toward ‘good’ and he only succeeded in jamming the metal into his new flesh. The pain was enjoyable for all of two seconds for the novelty, then terror clutched at his insides and rattled them around a bit.

He whimpered quietly. If Lister and the Cat didn’t find Starbug, he was finished. If they did find Starbug and didn’t get to him before this “Master” did, he was finished. If he didn’t die from sheer terror before the Master even showed up, he was finished.

The breath caught in his throat as a hideous roar echoed around the chamber and two vicious-looking claws appeared from a well-type hole in the floor, followed by the rest of the revolting beast. Rimmer started to tremble with fear as the thing stood before him, drool foaming at its hideously deformed mouth.

He found himself babbling as he watched, wide-eyed with terror, the beast stalk over to a slab of stone and remove a glowing blue whip. A holo-whip. Rimmer’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he tried to swallow what little spit he had. Not that he felt like much of a hologram with his wrists shackled and his clothes gone, but a holo-whip could still impact human flesh. In fact, it was probably the electricity his oiled body had been prepared for.

He whimpered again, trying to curl his body into a smaller space, but it was impossible. He was stretched, primed and ready for whatever this Master wanted to do to him. “I've never been partial to physical torture. It's actually always been one of my worst nightmares, actually,” he stuttered, unable to take his eyes off the flicking end of the holo-whip as the Master warmed it up.

“Now, all your nightmares will come true here. All of them,” the Master intoned and twisted his wrist.

The whip streaked white-hot across Rimmer’s chest and he howled, trying to turn his body away. The pain seemed to soak into him, filling his head with his mother’s voice calling him ‘stupid’ and ‘worthless’. His father was just chiming in at what a huge disappointment he’d been since the day he was born, when the next lash wrapped around his legs, tugging them out from underneath him. The abrupt loss of his footing caused his wrists to take the brunt of his weight, the manacles cutting into his flesh as he felt his right shoulder pop. He screamed and tried to regain his footing, but his legs wouldn’t obey his commands. They were twitching from the electricity, sending shockwaves along every nerve ending and making him cry out again. The voices droned louder in his head, his brothers joining in with their annoyance at his existence, his worthless excuses for failure after failure as they stood in their captain’s uniforms with their gorgeous wives on their arms.

A crash above his head sent sparks into his hair and his arms dropped, suddenly free of the pillar. He barely had time to register the release before another stroke curled around his chest and arms. He dropped to his knees, bile choking him as he tried to scream again. He just caught himself from slamming his head into the stone floor on shaking arms. With his back exposed, on hands and knees at the Master’s feet, he was at the creature’s mercy.

The creature had none.

He screamed in agony as the whip bit again and again into his flesh, as hundreds of voices thrummed inside his head, berating him for his stupidity, his awkwardness, his failures, disappointments, incompetence and cowardice. It droned on and on, the pounding in his head all but canceling the pain inputs from the rest of his body.

He didn’t know how long it took for him to realize that the beating had stopped. The voices prattled on, ridiculing him for his wasted life and death; his uselessness at the most basic of tasks.

“Stop,” he rasped as his body twitched uncontrollably from the electrical stimulation.

His throat was shredded; he couldn’t even swallow so he spat instead. The bloody mess mocked him, saying he couldn’t even take torture properly. He dry heaved as spasms wracked his body, but he had nothing to throw up as he didn’t have a stomach until landing on this God-forsaken planetoid. The heaving continued until his stomach was so cramped he was doubled over on the stone floor, knees drawn up to his chest.

The creature stood over him, the end of the holo-whip dancing inches from his nose. “Why should I, your self-loathing, show you any mercy? You’ve done this to yourself. Your hatred for yourself grows with each breath I take. Even now, you wish me to kill you; to end your miserable existence.”

His self-loathing? This demented, sadistic creature was a part of him? He felt wetness on his face; sweat and tears, and probably blood. He closed his eyes and more tears escaped. Anything to end the torture. Anything. “Yes,” he mouthed, unable to get his vocal cords to work. His hand shook, rattling the chains, as he tried to massage his throat; it came back bloody and sweaty. He let his hand fall to the stone floor as he angled his gaze upward at the creature. “Yes,” he croaked.

The creature bent down, fetid breath causing him to gag afresh. “I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction.”

A frustrated sob bubbled up his throat, sticking when it couldn’t freely form into the shout he wanted. The disappointed voices continued at the back of his mind, just loud enough to catch the derisive tones but only able to make out a few words.

Then they solidified into Lister’s sneered, “You're a cheating, weasley, low-life scumbucket with all the charm and social grace of a pubic louse.” Lister’s voice faded into Kryten’s sickened, “Has anyone ever told you that you are a disgusting, pus-filled bubo who has all the wit, charm and self-possession of an Alsatian dog after a head-swap operation?” Kryten morphed into Captain Hollister’s dressing-downs. Todhunter’s sneers. The mocking of the officers. The slaps and accusations of the women. McGruder’s dismissal. Gazpacho soup. The drive plate.

His hair was grabbed to lift his head as the Master chuckled darkly in his face. The claws scratched at his cheeks, barely missing his eyes. “You’re going to destroy yourself, Arnold Rimmer. I’m going to destroy you, inch by unpleasant inch, until your worthless life and death is over.” His head was dropped back to the floor, bouncing off of it with another resounding chorus of pain and mocking.

His mouth opened on a scream, but only a squeak came out as the Master laid the holo-whip on his back, letting it sear his flesh. He thrashed under the double assault of the sparking cruelty and his mind’s screaming, the voices unbearable. He sank further into despair, the hopelessness barraging him from his flesh and his mind.

When the whip was removed, he lay shaking, his body abused beyond thought. Choked sobs escaped his lips on every rattled breath, but his mind was blank. He let the voices wash through him, remaking him into whatever they wanted.

“Yes,” hissed the Master, petting his hair.

He shuddered and another sob escaped. An agonized cry was wrung from him as the Master picked him up and carried him over to a slab of rock. The ever-present voices rose in indignation at his pettiness and fake bravado, his willingness to let others take the blame for his mistakes. He lay supine as the Master arranged his limbs; hands shackled above his head and legs spread and shackled near the edges of the stone.

His body shriekingly protested being stretched out again, but he remained silent. Tears leaked out of his eyes as the voices taunted his weakness, his frailty, his cowardice. He was only able to gasp as he felt cool metal slice along his chest, leaving a burning trail and warm blood trickling down his sides.

The Master’s palm rubbed the blood into his skin, his whimpers catching in his throat as the claws made scratches along the incision. Voices pounded at him, cursing his weakness in the face of authority, mocking his cowering when confronted with danger.

“You despise yourself,” the Master stated. “You detest your own incompetence and stupidity.”

The voices urged him to agree. He nodded, more tears slipping down his temples.

The Master continued, “You hold yourself in contempt for your countless failures and disappointments. You feel nothing but the deepest, blackest rancor for that walking vomit stain the world calls Arnold Rimmer.”

The voices were chanting the Master’s words. He managed a weak, “Yes,” as more tears slipped down his face. He hated himself. He hated everything about himself. He wished he were dead; the world should be cleansed of his infestation.

The Master leaned over him, his grin corpselike and vile. “I know what you want,” it hissed, voice dark with promise. “When has your luck ever been good, Arnold?”

He opened his mouth to beg, to plead to be killed, but his voice cracked on another scream as the Master dug the tip of the blade into his arm and pulled it down to his armpit. The voices in his head drowned out his cries.

=-=-=-=

“What the smeg is that?” Lister asked quietly as he, Kryten and the Cat sneaked into the only structure they’d been able to find on the planetoid. The unholy sound made the hairs on the back of his neck rise, a cross between excruciating torment and hopeless desolation.

Kryten listened, then froze before he seemed able to answer. “I believe that’s Mr. Rimmer, sir.”

“A human made that sound?” Lister asked in disbelief. It sounded like something in a horror movie, or a nightmare.

The Cat made a disgusted noise. “No, Rimmer made that sound.”

Kryten’s hands were fluttering nervously. “Remember that graveyard, Mr. Lister? The ‘Hope’ grave was almost filled in. I’m afraid Mr. Rimmer may be too far gone to save.”

“What’re you saying, Kryten? That we leave him here to be tortured?” Another echoed yell, this one with a distinct sob at the end, tore at Lister’s heart. “I won’t do it. I won’t let anyone go through whatever it is Rimmer’s going through.”

Cat wrinkled his nose. “Are you sure we can’t just leave without him?”

Kryten shook his head. “I doubt we’d escape the moon without Mr. Rimmer. It’s his psyche we’re stuck in. He’d have to be dead or off the planetoid for it to release him.”

“Dead?” Lister’s question was horrified, while the Cat’s, “Dead?” was much more enthusiastic.

“If we can’t reach him psychologically, we may have to kill him in order to escape the planetoid’s grip,” Kryten explained. “Psi-moons tend to be rather irate when you try to remove the source of their foundation.”

Lister powered up his bazookoid. “To smeg with that. Boys from the Dwarf stick together. Even Rimmer,” he shot a glare to the Cat, who he could tell was about to make another snide comment. “Power up, guys, we’re going in hot.”

They crouched along until they came to a grate in the floor, where Lister made the mistake of looking down onto Rimmer and that…monster. “Smegging hell.” He felt his stomach churn and collapsed back against the wall, unwilling to take another look. “We’re going in, now.” No way was he leaving Rimmer in that thing’s presence one more minute.

Bazookoids at the ready, the guys jumped down from the grate to the main floor, where the monster had its back to them. Their view of Rimmer was mostly blocked from that angle, but Lister could still picture Rimmer’s skin smeared red with his own blood. He gave a battle cry and blasted the monster in rapid succession, the Cat and Kryten’s bazookoids joining in.

When the smoke cleared, the monster made an unpleasant noise and turned around, knife still in its claw-like hand. “That tickled.”

“Smeg,” all three of the guys muttered before letting loose another barrage. They had to stop when the ceiling started to come down, bits of stone crashing onto the monster’s head.

“Give up Rimmer, you ugly smegging bastard,” Lister shouted over the noise of the still-falling bits of ceiling.

The monster roared and threw chunks of stone at them. They dove behind a short wall for protection.

Lister called out again, “Give us Rimmer. We’re not leaving without him.”

“You’ll wait a long time, then,” the monster taunted them. “He’s not letting himself go.”

What? Lister looked askance at Kryten, who had a perplexed look on his face. “Sir, if I may?” He waved the mechanoid on, and Kryten asked loudly, “Who are you?”

The monster chuckled, though it was hardly laughter. The sound sent chills up Lister’s spine. “I’m the best part of him. I’m his self-loathing, and I’m growing stronger by the minute. Little Arnie, here,” Lister winced as he heard Rimmer’s strangled groan, “Doesn’t want me to leave.”

Kryten entered ‘worried’ mode. “Curse my theories. Mr. Rimmer’s self-loathing is manifest in that monster. If he has been growing stronger, as he says, then Mr. Rimmer’s ‘Hope’ is dying quickly. We need a way to get to Mr. Rimmer.”

“Our bazookoids didn’t do anything to that thing,” Lister reminded him with a glare. “What do you suggest, we just walk up, tap him on the shoulder and ask politely?”

“No, sir, I didn’t mean physically get to Mr. Rimmer,” Kryten amended. He half-stood and called out, “Mr. Rimmer, sir? Can you hear me? It’s Kryten, Mr. Lister and the Cat. We’ve come to get you. We won’t leave without you.”

“Shut up!” the monster hissed at them, then turned back to Rimmer and did something that caused the man to choke out a half-scream.

Lister caught on to Kryten’s plan. Get into Rimmer’s head, make sure he knew they were there, and give him some confidence back. “Rimmer; it’s Lister. I know we don’t always get on, but I’d never leave a man behind, you know that. I found Kryten, and we found you. We’re here to take you back to the ship.”

Rimmer’s half-terrified, half-ragged voice started to call his name, “Lis--?” but was cut off by something over his mouth, then a muffled sob escaped.

“Rimmer!” Lister shouted, standing up and facing the self-loathing beast. “Let him go, you smegging imposter. You’re not Rimmer. You may be a part of him, but you’re not all of him.” He kept his eyes on the monster, but addressed Rimmer. “Rimmer, fight him. I know you’re stronger than him.”

“Mr. Lister is right,” Kryten chimed in, standing next to him. “One aspect of any person’s personality doesn’t dictate who they are. You’ve got to fight him, Mr. Rimmer. We need to get you out of here and away from him.”

Either Lister’s eyes were playing tricks on him, or the monster was getting shorter. He aimed his bazookoid and blasted it a few times, Kryten and the Cat joining in, until with a wail that set Lister’s teeth on edge, the creature disappeared into a hole in the floor.

Not wasting time, Lister and Kryten ran over to Rimmer, who remained on his back with his eyes closed. “Rimmer?” Lister called softly, not knowing where to touch him that wouldn’t hurt.

“Lis,” Rimmer whispered brokenly, prying his eyes open. They were glassy with pain, fathomless, excruciating pain that caused a lump to form in Lister’s throat.

As Rimmer focused on him, the shackles disappeared from around Rimmer’s wrists and ankles. “You?” Rimmer’s mouth formed the word, but Lister couldn’t hear any sound behind it.

“It’s really me,” he answered, guessing that was what Rimmer was asking. “We need to get you out of here. How can we…I mean, where doesn’t it…?”

“Allow me, sir,” Kryten interjected, scooping up Rimmer and carrying him like a pile of the Cat’s laundry.

Lister cringed at each whimper and sob that came from Rimmer whenever Kryten jerked or stepped wrong, but at least they were making progress toward the Swamp of Despair. Cat took lead, using his senses to steer them clear of any obstacles while Lister guarded their rear. As they passed through the graveyard, Lister gave a quick look to ‘Hope’, and saw it was still half full. They weren’t in the clear, yet.

They made it across the Swamp without incident, but Cat swore he could hear things moving in the darkness toward their position. Lister secured the hatch to Starbug and triple-checked it to make sure nothing could get in.

He made a beeline for the medi-bay, where Kryten had taken Rimmer the second they were on board. Kryten was suturing the underside of Rimmer’s right arm, which looked like a fish opened to gut it. Blood was smeared everywhere, but Lister could make out the dozens and dozens of little cuts and burn marks, the wicked slice along his sternum and belly and –

He had to turn away as he caught sight of the hole dug into the top of Rimmer’s thigh from the tip of the knife. He didn’t know if Rimmer’s hologrammatic body would remember what happened to it and leave scars, or if it would all vanish when he returned to normal.

Normal. Right. Even without a degree in psychology, or even knowing how to correctly spell it, he knew that Rimmer may not return to what passed for normal for him. He spun back around as he heard Rimmer’s voice, ragged like he’d eaten glass.

“Rimmer?” He sat next to the prone figure, wondering how the smeg Rimmer had managed to create a self-loathing monster capable of torturing himself. Or was that the point of self-loathing?

“Lisss…” Rimmer hissed, eyes cracking open. His gaze faltered around and eventually settled on Lister’s face, recognition finally taking hold. “Lis,” he croaked more urgently, making minute gestures like he wanted to get up.

“Easy, Rimmer. Kryten’s still patching you up. You gave us quite a scare, back there,” he began, trying to distract Rimmer from Kryten’s stitching. “We’re all safe for the moment. That thing can’t get in here. It can’t get to you,” he added gently, wanting to see the haunted, hounded look leave Rimmer’s eyes.

Rimmer’s eyes closed and his face twisted in pain. “S’me,” he croaked out.

After a moment’s hesitation and Kryten’s nod, Lister finally answered, “I know what it is. And we’re still going to fight it. We won’t let it beat you.”

Rimmer gave a short bark of a laugh that wasn’t remotely humorous. “Too late.”

The despair that was radiating from Rimmer made him itch. Or maybe it was that half of his face was blood-stained. He stood and retrieved a basin of water and a clean towel, then came back and gently took hold of Rimmer’s chin, hoping it was at least minimally painful. The quick intake of breath said otherwise, but Lister wasn’t going to back away. He carefully trickled some water over Rimmer’s cheek, then gently wiped at it. He repeated the process, wetting Rimmer’s skin and then wiping the blood away, until most of his face was clear. He worked on Rimmer’s neck and shoulder while Kryten finished with Rimmer’s arm, then moved to his chest.

Lister felt Rimmer’s eyes on him the entire time and it made him uncomfortable, like they were accusing him of something. But when he glanced up at Rimmer’s face, his eyes were unfocused though aimed toward him. “Rimmer?” he tried to get his attention. “You there?”

Rimmer blinked a few times, swallowed with a wince, then apparently opted to nod instead of speaking.

“You want some water?” Lister asked, kicking himself for not thinking of if sooner. He somehow doubted Rimmer’s self-loathing would have offered any sort of comfort.

His eyes pleaded yes, and Lister backed away from their intensity. He got fresh water and a straw, then held the cup near Rimmer’s head and guided the straw to his cracked lips. How the smeg had this happened in such a short time? Rimmer looked like a refugee out of a desert after forty years, not a hologram-turned-solid on a psi-moon for two days.

Rimmer took a few sips, barely wetting his lips, but fell to a coughing fit that had both Kryten and Lister holding him steady as he coughed up blood. He sank back to the bed and closed his eyes, obviously drained from that exertion.

Lister pulled Kryten away from Rimmer to whisper, “Kryten, what the smeg, man? He’d only been down there two days. What did that thing do to him?”

“Judging by the burns I saw on his back, I believe a holo-whip was laid on his skin and left there,” Kryten confided. “If that’s the case, then it’s feasible that Mr. Rimmer’s self-loathing beast used it judiciously over an extended period of time. It would explain the involuntary jerks I’ve noticed throughout his body, as though his nerves have been short-circuited.”

“Are you saying that Rimmer beat himself nearly to death?” Lister hissed, disturbed and disgusted.

“Not Mr. Rimmer, sir, the self-loathing beast took on a life of its own once it could feed Mr. Rimmer’s self-loathing,” Kryten explained. “It was a self-perpetuating creature, feeding off the pain it was causing. The more it hurt Mr. Rimmer, the stronger it got and the weaker Mr. Rimmer became.”

Lister pondered that a moment. “And when we let Rimmer know we were there, the monster started to shrink.”

“Precisely,” Kryten praised him. “When Mr. Rimmer realized we hadn’t abandoned him, it boosted his self-confidence. When we insisted we weren’t leaving him, it gave him the strength to fight back, if only just enough.” Kryten sent a worried look over to Rimmer. “I don’t know that we got to him in time, though. A holo-whip on a human would only damage flesh, but for a hologram, the damage would also be in its mind, wreaking untold chaos and misery.”

Lister chewed on his fingernail, trying to process all this mind-medicine smeg. “So Rimmer’s stuck inside his head?”

“It would explain his listlessness and inability to focus,” Kryten said with a deep frown.

“Smeg,” was about all Lister could come up with. Rimmer wasn’t easy to get along with on a good day, and now he was trapped inside his own mind, feeding on the bad energy he’d created himself.

Kryten concurred, “Indeed.”

They both returned to Rimmer’s side, Kryten once again taking up stitching while Lister mopped up the new bloodstains on Rimmer’s chin and chest. “Hey, Rimmer,” he said quietly. “You still with me? Sorry I went away for a bit. Kryten and I just needed to discuss something. He’s patching you up, good as new.”

Rimmer’s eyes fixated on him again, the gaze slightly more focused. He licked his lips, presumably to speak, but Lister hushed him. “No, don’t try to talk. If a little water did that to you, I can’t imagine your vocal cords are exactly in working order.”

A faint, wry smile lifted the corner of Rimmer’s mouth, then he let out a soft, rattled sigh. The look he shot Lister seemed to say, ‘Bet you’re glad I’m not jabbering at you about regulations.’

“Hey,” he objected gently. “You can get back to quoting regs at me when you’re better. Right now, you need to heal that throat. I’m sure Kryten will get to it once he patches the rest of you up.” He looked up at the mechanoid, who nodded.

“Mr. Rimmer, sir, the cuts on your arm, stomach and chest required stitches, but I believe the other cuts are shallow enough to just need a good cleaning and some bandages. Once I take a look at your thigh, I’ll see what I can do about your throat. And your back,” he tried to add in a chipper voice, but it came out strangled and squeaky, as though he was trying to lie.

Lister shot Kryten a nasty look, but Rimmer wasn’t even paying attention to them; his eyes were closed, moving frantically behind his lids, and a whine stuck in his throat.

Lister gave his arm a gentle tap with the washcloth. “Hey, Rimmer,” he called, drawing the man’s attention. Whatever was going on inside Rimmer’s head, it wasn’t good. He needed to keep the man focused on the outside world; on him. Rimmer’s eyes opened, but the unfocused gaze was back. “I’m sorry we couldn’t get to you sooner, but I needed Kryten’s help to find you. It took me a good while to put Kryten back together. His legs were all over the place, and I had bits left over after I reassembled him.”

Rimmer’s gaze started to focus; it was working.

Kryten picked up the conversation. “Indeed, sir. Mr. Lister had me walking backwards because he didn’t know where my motorized circuit board went. It felt like we were on backwards Earth again. I expected a round of unapplause at my lack of ingenuity.”

Lister guessed the slight sniff and an uptick of Rimmer’s mouth indicated laughter.

“You two had a good act going, didn’t you?” Lister recalled, trying to draw Rimmer into pleasant memories. “The Forward Brothers, wasn’t it?”

“The Sensational Reverse Brothers,” Kryten corrected him haughtily. “And we were sensational. Who knew eating and drinking would be so enthralling?” He looked down at Rimmer. “And you, sir, with the ability to walk through things. It was a smash hit.”

Lister looked between the two of them. “Eh? Rimmer walked through things? I thought it was just you who did stuff, Kryten.”

“Oh, no,” Kryten demurred. “Mr. Rimmer was our pre-core, set at the beginning of the show instead of the encore. He would wave his hand through a table or other solid object, then poke his head through it. The audience would go unwild!”

Rimmer, acting more aware than he had since they found him, tugged at Kryten’s arm. He stared at Kryten and mouthed something, causing Kryten to chuckle. “Oh, that was good, wasn’t it?”

“What?” Lister demanded, not liking that he didn’t know the joke.

Rimmer rolled his head to mouth at him, but Lister couldn’t make out a thing. Kryten filled him in while Rimmer’s eyes lit up with a good memory.

“To get hired, Mr. Rimmer simply walked through the bar and stood next to the barkeep, pretending to be leaning an elbow on his shoulder. When he pretended to fall, he partially fell through the barkeep, causing a downroar amongst the crowd.”

“What? I didn’t know you had a sly streak in you,” Lister chided Rimmer softly. “If I’d known that, I would have included you in some of the pranks me and Chen used to do to Selby. He never knew it was us, either.”

Rimmer’s eyes darkened, and Lister realized he’d hit a bad memory. “Oh, you got blamed for one of those, didn’t you? I’m sorry, man. Like I said, I didn’t know you had it in you. Maybe we can start playing pranks on the Cat,” he tossed out as a suggestion. “I’m sure he’d love some denuder in his shampoo.”

Kryten’s high-pitched squeak of protest almost distracted Lister from Rimmer’s eyes crinkling as he attempted a smile – almost. Rimmer made a motion with his hand, indicating…clothes?

“You want to mess with Cat’s clothes?” Lister was shocked and not a little impressed. “That’s mad, man. You know how he gets when he finds a crease.”

Rimmer nodded with something akin to enthusiasm and Lister burst into laughter. “That’s all you want to do? Make creases in his clothes? I think I can get on board with that.”

Lister kept up a steady stream of inane chatter as Kryten finished with Rimmer’s chest and set to work antiseptically cleaning and bandaging the cuts. Rimmer hadn’t made much noise as Kryten sewed him up, but when the mechanoid touched the gutted area on his thigh, Rimmer let out a high-pitched whine and clutched at the sheets.

Lister grabbed his hand and held it between his, letting Rimmer grip him as hard as he wanted, which wasn’t actually much. “Breathe, Rimmer, deep and long, to get your mind off of it.”

Rimmer shot him a glare, then rasped out, “Distract me.”

Lister wracked his brain on how to distract Rimmer, turning to Kryten to ask what he needed to do.

“I suspect Mr. Rimmer’s body will revert to it’s initial state once we leave this planetoid, so I shouldn’t have to do much,” Kryten surmised, “But I would like to clean it out just to make sure it doesn’t get infected.”

“Wait,” Lister stopped him. “If he’s going to revert back to a hologram, why’d you have to stitch him up?”

Rimmer’s expression, directed at Kryten, seemed to say, Yeah, why?

Kryten looked sheepish. “Mr. Rimmer was bleeding on the floor, sirs. Blood is rather tricky to get out of Starbug’s deck plating, so I wanted to minimize the damage. Plus,” he added as Lister started to come around the bed toward him, “I don’t know for a fact that Mr. Rimmer will revert to normal. This was done to his psyche, which remains the same no matter his status. There is a slight possibility that the physical damage will remain.”

Horrified at the thought that Rimmer might continue to suffer, Lister turned back to the bed to see Rimmer in a similar state of dejection. “Oh, no, you don’t, Rimmer. Don’t let him win. You’re stronger than that.”

Rimmer managed to cock an eyebrow, not as lofty as he used to, but it was still enough. “I mean it. You are stronger than him,” Lister promised. “You helped us get to you, didn’t you? You were the one who started to kick him back. If you hadn’t trusted us, we wouldn’t have been able to help you.”

Rimmer’s expression clearly stated, I trusted you?

Lister smiled. “Yeah, you trusted us and we rescued you. I told you, I don’t leave anyone behind. No matter how smeggy you are, no matter how much you annoy me, I’m never going to leave you stranded.”

As he watched, tears filled Rimmer’s eyes and Lister felt a rush of panic. Thinking that they missed some sort of internal damage that was eating away at Rimmer’s insides, he grasped Rimmer’s shoulders to steady him.

When a small, hope-filled smile cracked Rimmer’s features, Lister realized that it had been his words, his promise, that had caused Rimmer to cry. He felt a bit foolish and uncomfortable. How could such a small gesture mean so much to him? Then again, Lister recalled, when had he ever given Rimmer a kind word? When had anyone who ever met him? His discomfort began to turn to shame. He wasn’t a man to kick someone when they were down, but he’d been doing it to Rimmer for years, the bloody gimboid. It was just…it was hard to get through to the real Rimmer. He made it hard to see any goodness in him, but maybe it was partially everyone else’s fault, too. After all, Rimmer’s distrust of everyone had to stem from somewhere. Lister had never met anyone else who distrusted absolutely everyone and every deed toward him.

Beneath him, Rimmer’s expression was transforming into one Lister had only seen once on Rimmer’s face, but had seen plenty of times on women. Belatedly, he realized he was still holding onto Rimmer’s shoulders and Rimmer’s head was coming up off the bed. Oh, smeg was all he had time to think before Rimmer shyly brushed his lips against Lister’s.

Ignoring the bolt of lightning that seemed to travel from his lips throughout his body, Lister attempted to joke it off. “Rimmer, you’re not yourself right now. You’re going to regret that later.”

Rimmer shook his head, then croaked out, “This,” before he got his left hand at the back of Lister’s head, pulled him down and pressed their mouths together again.

It wasn’t so much a strike of lightning this time as it was a slow rumble throughout his body, building steam. He licked at Rimmer’s split lip, soothing away the hiss of pain. He placed light kisses at the corner of Rimmer’s mouth, mindful of the short hitches of breath that signaled another bruise or abused patch of skin. When he felt wetness against his cheek and heard Rimmer sniffle, he had to stop. “Rimmer, I can’t do this to you,” he breathed against Rimmer’s mouth. “Not when you’re like this.”

Rimmer’s tone was grim as he rasped, “Only have body now.”

Smegging hell. Lister rested his forehead against Rimmer’s, realizing that once they were clear of the planetoid, Rimmer would revert to a non-touchable hologram. He flexed his hands on Rimmer’s shoulders, feeling the solidness of the body, the slickness of the skin beneath his. He breathed out sharply, then pulled back to look into Rimmer’s eyes. “I can’t do this to you when you’re so smegged up. You’ve got two dozen stitches in your arm alone! Kryten hasn’t even checked…”

Rimmer’s lips shut him up and he hummed his remaining words into Rimmer’s mouth. Despite the chapped lips, Rimmer was actually a nice kisser if a bit hesitant. Lister was afraid of hurting him further, so he wasn’t as demanding as he normally was, either. Lister began to move his hands across Rimmer’s chest, mindful of the bandages but wanting to give Rimmer the sensation of touch that wasn’t intent on bringing him pain.

Rimmer initially flinched away from his hands, then gradually allowed them to ghost along his skin, even arching up once. The half-cry of pain stopped Lister in his tracks and he backed away as quickly as possible.

“No,” Rimmer commanded frantically as his good arm reached out to pull him back. Lister went cautiously, starting back at Rimmer’s shoulder and working his way across his collarbone, this time with his mouth.

Rimmer grasped his hair and breathed heavily in his ear, occasionally tugging at his dreads when he either hit a sensitive spot or a painful one. He was beginning to tell the difference when suddenly, the skin beneath his lips vanished and he fell face-first into the bed.

Rimmer’s full-voiced cry, “Smeg!” tore at his heart, but he could guess what happened. Kryten had gotten Starbug off the planetoid while Rimmer was distracted with him. It was the prudent, logical thing to do. Smeg it all.

He pushed himself out of Rimmer’s now hologrammic form and off the bed. Their eyes locked and both turned away, Rimmer in frustrated shame and Lister…Lister wasn’t sure what he felt. He enjoyed kissing Rimmer, whether it was because he hadn’t kissed an actual human in over three years or because he actually liked Rimmer, he couldn’t tell. And now, it didn’t seem to matter, as they couldn’t do it again.

Rimmer, now fully healed and back in his red uniform, jumped down off the bed and stormed out of the medi-bay.

Lister would have bet his guitar that he saw tears in Rimmer’s eyes, and not tears of joy or remorse. Tears of frustration and denial, being teased with something so good and having it snatched away. Lister felt his heart tug again and wondered if it was pity or something else he felt for Rimmer.

He let out a breath and picked up the wash basin full of bloody water and blood-soaked towel, then set them down. He didn’t want to be reminded of what he couldn’t have anymore, and he was sure Rimmer didn’t, either. He’d leave Kryten to clean up. He had some beers to drown his sorrows in.

=-=-=-=


	2. Beginning

Starbug didn’t afford him many places to hide, but Rimmer was a champion at cowering; he knew all the hiding spots.

He headed to the engine room and made for the corner on the other side of the boiler. He had to pass partially through it, but it didn’t matter; he couldn’t feel it.

Tears of frustration blurred his vision. No, he couldn’t feel, but the damn voices in his head continued to roil at him. Hadn’t they gotten away from the planetoid? Wasn’t that why his body was back to its ghostly form? So why weren’t they the smeg gone, too?

_You’ll never be rid of us. We’re you._

He crouched down and curled his arms over his head, but the voices persisted. They were inside his head, taunting him, demanding that he shut himself off and rid the world of his weaseliness.

“Go away!” he shouted amidst their cruel laughter.

_You’ll never be rid of us. We’re you._

The wet spots on his knees grew as he pressed his face against the fabric, forcing out more tears. “You haven’t won. My friends came for me. Lister came for me. He kissed me!” he cried desperately, struggling to hold onto the faintest thread of hope.

 _You think they’re your friends? They did what was necessary to get them to safety_. The chorus chuckled. _You honestly think Lister likes you? He pities you. It was his idea to distract you while the Cat flew Starbug off the planetoid._

“No,” he denied, desperation and fear clawing at him. “That’s not true.” But even as he said it, he could feel the truth welling up in him, waving its sickening banner. Lister hadn’t shown any interest in him until they were in a life-or-death situation. They’d been in plenty of those over the years, but Lister had never expressed any interest in playing tonsil-hockey with him until just now. The only difference this time was that in order to escape, Rimmer’s self-confidence needed to be bolstered up in order to defeat his own self-loathing, and what better way than to make him feel wanted?

The denial that slipped through his lips echoed off the walls and closed his throat. 

_You see the truth now_ , the voices chorused. _You see how worthless you really are. How much you’re despised. He used you then tossed you away once the danger was past. Do them all a favor and shut yourself off_ , his parents, brothers, Captain Hollister, Cat, Kryten, McGruder and Lister all chanted at him. “Shut yourself off. End their suffering at having to rescue your insignificant blip of a life. You’re not worth the effort. You know it. You’ve thought it before when they didn’t come for you right away. You put their lives in danger, their real lives, when yours is only light and shadow. Rid the world of your patheticness.”

The edges of his light-bee cut into his palm as he clutched it within his chest. He didn’t feel the pain, didn’t feel the heat it emanated, didn’t feel the warmth of the hologrammatic blood that slicked his palm. He rocked back and forth, moaning as he tried to fight the urge to press the little button that would shut him off. One press of his thumb and Lister would never be in danger again. One press of his thumb would erase the need for Lister to risk his life saving his meaningless one.

“You don’t contribute anything,” Kryten whispered to him. “You can’t affect anything around you. You’re a spineless ninny who failed his astro-navigation exam 11 times. Your brothers passed on their first try. You’re not officer material. You’re not even Second Technician material. You were mad to think you’d ever be an officer. They didn’t want you. No one wants you.”

He stared numbly at the floor as his hand tightened on his bee.

“You can’t even get food right,” Lister whispered in his other ear. “Hot gazpacho soup? Who doesn’t know that some soup is meant to be served cold? Only an idiot git like yourself. The officers laughed about you at other dinners, you know. Other dinners that you weren’t invited to because of your stupidity.”

“We don’t need you,” Cat proclaimed. “We don’t want you. You’re in the way even when you’re not around. Just the idea of you is enough to make us sick. Do us all a favor and press the button. Shut yourself off so we can launch you into space.”

His hand trembled but he held firm to his bee, his thumb slick on the button.

“Shut yourself off,” Kryten urged.

“Shut yourself off so I’ll finally be safe,” Lister demanded.

“I’m sorry, Lister,” Rimmer whispered piteously and pressed the button.

=-=-=-=-=

Kryten didn’t pack Starbug with much by way of lager, so Lister was through most of it before they made it back to Red Dwarf. He wasn’t even on his way to being drunk; he was stuck at ‘miserable git wallowing in his misfortune.’

“Mr. Lister, sir, we’re back,” Kryten reminded him.

Cat danced through the main cabin of Starbug from the cockpit, pausing to yell back, “Last one off the ship is last night’s mouse droppings!”

“I don’t know what to do, Kryes,” Lister moaned into the table. His ear was pressed to the metal top of the table, his gaze somewhere on the far wall. “I was kissing Rimmer. Rimmer! And I kinda liked it.”

Kryten bent down to view him properly, his hands fluttering nervously. “Sir? Do you want me to check you for contamination or other virus-like symptoms? I swear I just heard you say you liked kissing Mr. Rimmer.”

Lister groaned and slid his hat down over his eyes, pressing his forehead to the table. “Even if I did like him and wanted to do it again, I can’t. He can’t. He’s back to being a hologram.”

Kryten tried to haul him up by his shoulders. “Come, now, Mr. Lister. We’ll get you back to the Dwarf’s medi-bay and I’ll run a full scan on you. I’m sure this is just…”

Lister shook him off and backed away. “It’s not some disease, Kryten”

“I beg to differ, sir,” Kryten huffed.

“Just because he’s a smeghead doesn’t mean I can’t like him,” Lister protested, then realized what he’d just said. “Oh, smeg,” he groaned and placed his hand on Kryten’s shoulder to keep himself upright. “Maybe we’ll run that scan after all, eh?”

“Of course, sir,” Kryten assured him, then accompanied him off of Starbug.

The mechanoid tutted over the scan’s readouts. “Blood pressure elevated, blood alcohol level astronomical, gastronomical distress critical, stomach ulcers…I can’t find anything wrong with you, sir,” Kryten fussed, clearly distressed.

Lister sighed and hopped down from the bed. “It’s just as well. I know it’s something here,” he tapped his chest.

“Do you want me to run an EKG?” Kryten asked, hopeful.

Lister sighed again. “No, Krytes. I need to talk to Rimmer.” He took his time walking from the medi-bay to their quarters, lost in thought.

He wasn’t normally a thinking man, was the thing. He led with his heart, and his heart had ached at hearing Rimmer’s screams of agony. It had pained him to see Rimmer unable to speak, his body so abused it couldn’t stand to be touched. True, he would have felt that way about Kryten or the Cat in the same situation, but there was something more. Just that little something else that hadn’t pulled away when he knew Rimmer was about to kiss him.

Rimmer hadn’t been exactly subtle and had given him plenty of ‘freak and dash’ time, but he’d stayed with only a bit of panic thudding his heart. Panic at what? Kissing Rimmer? Changing their tolerate-hate relationship? Realizing his feelings for him too late to do anything about it, as Rimmer lost the ability to touch anyone ever again, ever?

He stopped to lean against a wall. Smeg. What was he supposed to do now? What could he and Rimmer do about it, if Rimmer wanted to do anything at all? If he followed previous habits, Rimmer would lie and say it meant nothing, obfuscate around the potential meanings, demean Lister for believing the prank he’d pulled, claim Lister was hallucinating, claim he was hallucinating, and then run off for half a day to hide and deny all knowledge that it had happened.

Lister didn’t want to deny that it happened. With a twist to his gut, he realized he wanted it to happen again. And it couldn’t. “Smeg,” he breathed.

Rolling himself away from the wall, he entered their shared quarters, but Rimmer wasn’t there. Not wanting to wander the entire ship looking for him, he addressed the ceiling.

“Holly, where’s Rimmer?”

She appeared on the wall monitor. “Hang on a mo’ – scanning for his light-bee. Landing bay 43.”

He peered closer at Holly. “What? Wasn’t that where we landed Starbug?”

“Affirmative,” Holly replied. “I show his light-bee in the engine room.”

“That cowardly smeghead,” Lister grumbled as he started the trek back to the landing bays.

“Rimmer? I know you’re hiding back there,” he called into the engine room. He didn’t spot the familiar red figure, but there were a lot of machines down there to tremble behind. “I’m not mad at you, if that’s what you’re afraid of.” The silence grew eerie and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Something was very, very wrong. “Rimmer?” he called softly, but only the cooling engines answered him.

He jogged to Starbug’s outer door and yelled into the landing bay, “Holly, where exactly is Rimmer in the engine room? His exact location.”

The disembodied voice of the computer answered after a moment, “Far back corner on the left side of the last boiler to the right. About two paces from the bottom of the boiler, eleven o’clock.”

Reciting the directions to himself, Lister retraced his steps to the engine room, then twisted left and right until he figured out which boiler Holly was referring to. Rimmer wasn’t cowering or hiding. In fact, Lister didn’t see a speck of red anywhere near where Holly said Rimmer should be.

With a knot of fear in his stomach, Lister flattened himself down on the floor and peered underneath the machine directly in front of him. There, lying on the floor, was Rimmer’s deactivated light-bee.

A violent shudder ripped through Lister. There were only a few ways to deactivate a hologram. Holly could shut the projection down, lightning could interfere with the projection, or the manual reset button on top of the light-bee could be held until the bee powered down.

“Smeg, Rimmer; why’d you have to go and hide from me?” Listed bemoaned as he inched forward, reaching out to grab the light-bee. His reach was inches too short, so he scooted closer until his shoulder was jammed against a machine and tried again. His fingertips rocked the bee and he feared he would accidentally send it further into the recesses of the engine room, but on a roll toward him, he grasped it and held it to his chest. “Damn smeghead,” he murmured to the bee as he rotated his aching shoulder.

He took the lifts back to their living area and located Kryten doing the Cat’s laundry. “Kryten, we have a problem.”

Kryten stopped his ironing and looked alarmed. “Are we out of starch?”

Lister held out his hand. “No, we have a suicidal hologram.”

=-=-=-=-=

Lister dug the heel of his hands into his eyes, trying to wrap his mind around Kryten’s explanation. “So even though we’re thousands of miles away from that smegging psi-moon, it’s still affecting Rimmer?”

“We’re out of the psi-moon’s influence, but the damage that was done to Mr. Rimmer is still with him,” Kryten explained. “His body healed when he was turned back into a hologram, but the tortures he underwent in his mind are still controlling him. I can’t know for sure what he’s actually experiencing, but it had to be enormously powerful to get him to turn off his own projection.”

Lister rested his hands on the table, then set his chin on his hands and stared at the piece of machinery that projected Rimmer. “If we turn him back on, what happens?”

“He’ll go on experiencing whatever had happened to him,” Kryten confirmed his fear. “It’s possible, if whatever’s happened to him is demented enough, that he’ll go insane and we’ll have to permanently shut him down.”

“I’m not giving up on him, Krytes,” he insisted. “There has got to be a way to get through to him before whatever’s happened to him takes over.”

“You recall what happened in ‘Better Than Life’, sir,” Kryten hesitantly stated. “Mr. Rimmer can turn the most pleasant experience into Hell in very little time. As that’s his modus operandi, you’ll have only moments to intervene. I project approximately 7.2 minutes until he’s completely lost to us.”

Lister didn’t have a plan yet, but he didn’t want to wait, either. He picked up the light-bee and looked at it thoughtfully. “Kryten, if this doesn’t work, after ten minutes, shut him down. Not a second before.”

“What are you going to do, sir?” the mechanoid asked, worry mode in full swing.

Lister’s thumb hovered over the activation button. “Not sure yet.” He jerked his head toward their quarter’s door. “Stay just outside where he won’t be able to see you, but near enough to Holly if you need to deactivate his projection. Go.”

Kryten lumbered off muttering to himself, but Lister was focused on the ball of metal that contained Rimmer’s essence. Well, it didn’t, not really, but for him, that bit of metal represented Rimmer. Cold and unfeeling on the outside, but that protected the messy bits inside. Those messy bits were worth listening to, worth learning about and worth saving. He pressed the button and tossed the bee, watching and thinking as Rimmer reactivated.

Rimmer’s face twisted in confusion. “Lister. What…?” the hologram began, but Lister talked over him.

“Just listen to me, Rimmer. Your life is worth something to me. I don’t know what’s been going on in that head of yours, but you have to fight it. Kryten says if you can’t fight it off, you may go insane and we’ll have to shut you down, permanently. I don’t want that to happen.” He took a breath and continued, ignoring Rimmer’s consternation. “You’ve come to mean something to me, Rimmer. I don’t know quite what yet, but I only just started realizing it after we rescued you. When you kissed me, I felt it in me toes. It felt right. I don’t know that we’ll ever be able to touch again,” and here, Rimmer’s quiet cry echoed the hitch in Lister’s voice, “but it doesn’t matter. _You_ matter, Rimmer. It’s not just the ability to touch and kiss and other stuff, it’s who you are as a person.”

He kept his eyes locked on Rimmer’s expressions, which were fluctuating wildly between hope, fear, disgust and loathing, all directed internally. “You didn’t say anything when you got back from that holoship, but I know you gave up your position for someone. She meant a lot to you, and you gave up your career and prospects at a real life, for her. You may have even loved her,” he ventured, and judging by the warring emotions on Rimmer’s face, his guess had hit true. “If you’re capable of love, then you’re a decent human being. It’s our capacity to love that makes us different from the self-loathing beasts of the world. They only want to take and destroy, but love makes us stronger, makes us want to give back, to create beauty in an otherwise ugly universe.”

He stood and looked up into Rimmer’s eyes, which were shining with tears and hope. “Don’t let whatever’s happening inside your head take you over, Rimmer. I need you here with me. I may not be able to touch you, but that doesn’t mean I can’t feel for you.”

Rimmer licked the tears from his lips and whispered, “The voices won’t stop. They told me you’d be safer if I weren’t here. They’re telling me now that you’re lying, that you just want something from me, that you’re toying with me to set me up for a prank.”

What the smeg was going on inside Rimmer’s mind? Voices trying to control him? That wasn’t like anything Kryten described, but he went with it. “I’ve never lied about my feelings, Rimmer. I like you and I want to kiss you again. Someday, when we find a way, I will kiss you again.” Rimmer licked his lips and Lister copied the movement. “You were brought back to keep me sane, right? How can you expect me to go on with my life, when I know that you’re hurting and the demons inside your head are controlling you?” He shook his head. “I can’t do that, Rimmer. I can’t let it go. I can’t let _you_ go. You may be a smeghead, but you’re my personal smeghead, and I wouldn’t want you any other way.” He forced a cheeky grin, trying to draw the rest of the demons out of Rimmer’s head. “The Cat might, but he doesn’t get a vote in this one. Just me.”

Rimmer’s expressions were changing too rapidly for Lister to catalogue, but his eyes were unfocused, just like they had been in the medi-bay. “I won’t…” Rimmer demanded. “He’s _not_!” he insisted hotly. “He wouldn’t lie about that.”

Lister realized he was watching Rimmer battle for his mind and edged toward the door to signal Kryten to back off. Once he was sure that Kryten wouldn’t shut Rimmer off, he crept back in front of Rimmer, though he didn’t think the hologram was seeing him. He doubted Rimmer even knew he was in the room right now, all his focus was internal.

“Shut up, you smegging offspring of a sheepherder and his prize ewe,” Rimmer spewed forth, apparently warming up. “This is my mind and I’m ordering you to shut the smeg up. You’ve tormented me my entire life, always holding me back and whispering that I’m not good enough. Well, tough titties, I’m done with the lot of you. I’m taking my neuroses and shipping them off in the post where I’m sure they’ll be lost for the next three million years. Now _get out of my head_!” Rimmer screamed the last bit, his face flushed with sweat rolling down his temples. He let out an inhuman howl and dug his fingers into his hair before doubling over.

Lister tried to reach out to him, to hold onto his shoulders, but they passed right through. He yearned to help in some way. No human, not even Rimmer, should have to go through whatever it was that was tormenting him. “Rimmer! Rimmer, can you hear me? Come on, fight it. Fight for me. Fight for us. You can beat them, Rimmer. They’re just voices, and you have the power to shut them up. They don’t belong in your head. Make ‘em leave.”

Rimmer fell to his knees with a groan and Lister fell with him, hands hovering over Rimmer’s shoulders.

An odd cackle emanated from Rimmer’s throat as he raised his head, hands falling away from the grip he’d had on his hair. “They’re gone, Listy.” Rimmer’s eyes locked on his, fiercely green and somber. “Everything that I’ve been my whole life is silent. The berating, the chastising, the put-downs; all quiet. What does that leave me with?”

Lister wasn’t a psychologist by any meaning of the word, but he knew what a fragile mind was. “You’re all the best bits that make up Arnold Rimmer,” he answered confidently. Going on gut instinct, which had served him well his full 26 years, he leaned forward and brought his lips to Rimmer’s. He wasn’t sure if he was actually inside Rimmer or just along the hologram’s edges, but the gesture of the kiss was unmistakable. “This is a new day for you, Rim—Arnold,” he switched names, knowing how much he annoyed Rimmer by just saying his name wrong. He didn’t want anything setting Rimmer off again. “You get to start again. You get to make a new path. Not everyone gets that.”

Rimmer’s eyes lost some of their glassiness and he focused on the man before him. “What if I screw it up like I always do?”

“You’ve got me to set you straight,” Lister promised. “And you can’t screw it up, because you learn from your mistakes, too. Sometimes, those are the most important lessons.” He flexed his hands, wanting desperately to put his arms around Rimmer because if anyone, anywhere in the whole smegging universe needed a hug ever in their lives, it was Rimmer right at that moment. “I wish I could hug you,” he muttered. Rimmer’s Adam’s apple bobbed and Lister watched it, stunned by the force of wanting to lick that stretch of skin. “Wish I could touch you.” Was that his voice that went all dark and deep?

“Want to kiss you,” Rimmer murmured, swaying forward with eyes half-closed.

Lister tried to be careful of where their actual mouths were, but he closed his eyes and remembered the tentative first brush of Rimmer’s lips against his instead.

A frustrated noise caused him to blink his eyes open. He wasn’t sure which of them had made it, but he was sure the annoyed expression on Rimmer’s face was reflected on his own. “We’ll find a way,” Lister promised.

Rimmer’s newfound calm wavered. “What if the voices come back?” he voiced quietly.

Lister reached to take Rimmer’s hand, then realizing the futility, dropped his arm back to his own lap. “You let me know and we’ll work together to tell them to smeg off.”

Rimmer reached out a finely trembling hand and made it look like he was placing it over Lister’s. “The pain was…infinite,” he ventured. “Beyond description.” He looked up into Lister’s eyes, hope shining once again. “Your touch made it better. I have that.”

Lister smiled at him. “Yeah, you do. And one day, we will find a way to get you a body again.” His smile turned lecherous. “And when that day comes, my touch will erase every smegging thing that creature did to you.”

Rimmer pulled his hand back and stared down at it. “I don’t know if that’s possible,” he whispered. “I can already feel them probing at the back of my mind.”

“Already?” Lister dismayed before he could stop himself. “Maybe that’s normal,” he tossed out, frantically trying to keep Rimmer from dwelling on it. “We all have our little voices that try to tear us down, but we also have voices that build us up. You just haven’t had the experience of building yourself up. I’ll help you.” He settled himself on the floor, crossing his legs. “Lesson one. Out of the all the crew of Red Dwarf, who did Holly choose to bring back as a hologram? Who did she pick to keep me sane?”

Rimmer looked skeptical, but answered, “Me.”

“And am I sane?” Lister knew it was a loaded question, but he could take a ribbing if it helped Rimmer.

“That’s still open for debate,” Rimmer snapped back, seemingly surprising himself. “Yes,” he switched gears, sincerity deepening his voice.

“So, you haven’t failed in your duties and you haven’t failed me. That makes you a success.” Lister saw the rebuttal forming in Rimmer’s eyes, ready to list all his shortcomings and held up his hand to stop it. “No. No, ‘but’s’. No excuses. That’s the full statement. You, Arnold Rimmer, are a success at keeping me sane.”

He felt heat on his cheeks as he began, “Lesson two. You’re brave. Don’t,” he warned, forestalling Rimmer’s obvious contradiction. “ _You_ kissed _me_ , remember? I didn’t have a goited clue that I liked you, but I must have, because I kissed you back. You made the first move. That takes huge cojones, man. It took me weeks to work up the nerve to ask Kochanski out.” That probably wasn’t the best example to bring up, but it was the first thing that popped into his head.

Rimmer didn’t seem to mind; he was too busy turning red. “I haven’t actually asked you out,” Rimmer countered, flicking his gaze from his hands to Lister. “Yet,” he amended with a curve of his lips. Lister raised his eyebrows expectantly and struggled not to smirk. Rimmer fidgeted, then finally blurted out, “Do you want to play the Locker Room game Friday night?”

Lister’s cheeks hurt, he was smiling so hard. “Love to, Arnold.”

When Lister didn’t say anything further, Rimmer looked at him expectantly. He was there, he was engaged and he was focused, not thinking about the voices. “So, what’s the third lesson?”

Lister’s grin turned sly. “You’ll have to wait ‘til Friday to find out.” He honestly didn’t know, but hey, he’d just given himself two days to figure it out. He’d think of something. After all, he had vested interest in keeping Rimmer sane and healthy until they could find him a real body.

Little did Lister know that in as little as ten months’ time, he’d get his wish.

The End


End file.
